


Mulberry

by Storm337



Series: Downy AU [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Aura - Freeform, Darkstache - Freeform, Downy AU, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Soft Wing AU, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 13:04:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15729969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storm337/pseuds/Storm337
Summary: Sometimes Dark isn't always completely Dark.Sometimes he's more Celine.





	Mulberry

**Author's Note:**

> Fluffy Darkstache I wrote for my soft wing AU I'm calling the Downy AU.  
> Listened to the Main Theme of Layers of Fear, if you want mood music.  
> Not beta read.

Wilford cups Dark’s cheeks in his hands, thumbs sweeping gently over the soft grey skin, reverent and appreciative. Dark looks away, uncharacteristically bashful under Wilford’s attentive gaze even as he leans into the touch, craving it. Unusual heat burns just under Wilford’s palms, a blotchy shadow of a blush faintly rising on the demon’s face. 

“Celine,” Wilford whispers, low and sweet, old affection blending with new tenderness. 

Dark shudders, a lump lodged in his throat. Wilford smiles, wiggling his mustache and letting one of his hands trail down to Dark’s jaw, thumb moving to ghost over dry lips. Dark glances at him, the slightest flicker of his eyes, but it’s enough for Wilford to pick up the change in the color. Wine irises had lightened and shifted to mulberry, tainted with the flush of red that was invading Dark’s aura, radiating around his form in a blurry outline. 

“Sweetheart,” Wilford coos, drawing closer until their chests are pressed together, noses brushing, breathes mingling, and Dark is forced to look at Wilford directly. It is so easy to get lost in those deep eyes and Wilford eagerly takes the plunge. It reminds him of champagne on his tongue and high laughter, sashaying around a crowded ballroom without a care in the world, because the world was in his hands, wearing the prettiest red dress. 

“What’s wrong, darling?” There’s a drawl to his voice that scatters the old memories, letting them fade away and reshape into newer, more familiar ones. Deep chuckles, the clicking of a well-used cane on polished marble, waltzing away from prying eyes at the fringes of a party winding down, holding a body too cold to still be alive and yet hearing a faint heartbeat coming from within. 

Dark answers by leaning the rest of the way in and kissing Wilford back into the present, his hands creeping up the pink suspenders to hold onto his shoulders. Wilford smiles into the kiss and settles his own hands on Dark’s hips. They stay there for a few long breaths, leaning into each other, foreheads eventually touching and Wilford’s wings restlessly fluttering behind him. Wilford pulls away first but makes up for it by moving his arms up and wrapping Dark in a hug. Dark melts into it with an exhausted sigh. 

“I don’t know,” the demon responds, voice ever so slightly higher. “I don’t know Will.”

“It’s okay,” Wilford reassures him, spreading his little flamingo wings as far as they will go, the primary feathers brushing along Dark’s arms and sides. Dark ducks his head, hiding it against Wilford’s shoulder and Wilford rubs comforting circles into Dark’s featureless back. 

“Celine,” he says again, enjoying the way the edge of Dark’s aura sparks intense fire red. “What do you need, dear heart?” 

“You,” Dark responds without hesitation, lips brushing against Wilford’s neck. His hands slide higher, finding the hole in the back of Wilford’s shift where his wings fit through. The demon’s cold fingers skirt around the edges of the fabric until he reaches their connection to Wilford’s back along his shoulder blades. Wilford hums appreciatively as Dark’s fingers dig into the muscles and soft down there, scratching gently for a moment before grabbing handfuls of the sensitive feathers. Wilford, for his part, doesn’t flinch or shift.

“I’m not going anywhere, my darling dark dove.” The statement is punctuated by a kiss to the temple that lingers. 

“We know,” the three-toned voice says against Wilford’s neck again, shaking and splintering, distorted with too many emotions and too many ways to express them. Kisses and soft touches, deep hugs and gentle words, flowers and bullets and the world on its knees. 

Wilford hums again, this time in understanding, and begins to gently rock them from side to side while still rubbing Dark’s back. The being leaning against him sighs deeply, shoulders slowly falling as whatever tension had built up began to drain from his physical form. The hands in Wilford’s feathers begin to unclench, apologetically patting smooth the ruffled down. It felt nice and Wilford chirps his appreciation. He feels Dark’s back expand, silently chuckling at the noise, before the demon lifts his head and bumps it against Wilford’s. His eyes swirl like smoke, illuminated by a back glow of fire and little flecks of burning ember that drift about in the small shiny circles. Otherworldly, dangerous, but so lovely. 

“I love you,” Dark higher voice whispers, sending Wilford’s heart fluttering like his wings. He can feel Dark’s aura pulling at him, reeling him in even though he can’t physically get closer, smothering him in heated waves of red. He lets it wash over him, the ebb and flow matching their gentle rocking, a rhythm all their own. They ride the waves together in silence, the pulse of Dark’s aura a sharp contrast to his cold skin.

“What happened?” Wilford asks eventually, when their breathing and their heartbeats are in synch and the room has faded, a black fog drifting through the edges of their vision and wiping the rest of the world away. 

“I don’t remember,” Dark admits, quirking his lips in an embarrassed and bashful smile that is so Celine it hurts what part of William is left inside of Wilford. Instinctively Wilford lifts his hand and brushes Dark’s hair out of his face, remembering halfway through the motion that it isn’t long enough to tuck behind his ear. He smoothly switches the movement to another familiar action, turning his hand to run the back of his knuckles across Dark’s cheek and down to his jaw, catching on short neat stubble. 

“Couldn’t have been that important then.” 

“I suppose not.” 

Red still blossoms around Dark, sits in his eyes and his posture, in the way he leans into Wilford’s touch and turns his head to gently kiss his hand. Celine still floats on the surface, unabashedly soaking in Wilford’s undivided attention. And as much as Wilford loves her, as much as he has ever loved her, there is a delicate balance that she is breaking by forcing her way to the top. It is a balance Dark fought so hard to obtain, cried and bled and broke for, that Wilford simply can not allow Celine to claw her way out any further and risking ruining all of that work.

“Will you play for me?” 

Dark blinks, caught off guard by the question, and Wilford takes a step back to watch the effect it has on his aura. He can see the moment Celine lets go, can pinpoint the second Dark seems to realize that he was slipping, fracturing into one-third of himself, and grabs hold of himself with a vengeance. The red withers and fades, sinking as it is reclaimed and wrestled into submission by the blue and black. They mix uneasily, a muddled purple that sits faintly along Dark’s outline, pulled in tight as he internally fits himself back together. 

“I’m-” Dark begins, but thinks better of it and changes directions. “What would you like me to play?” 

The world comes back into focus, as ordinarily bland as they had left it, and Wilford takes Dark’s hand to lead him over to the piano. 

“Reikowski.”

“You don’t have a specific song?” 

“I want you to choose.” 

Dark sits down and Wilford hops up onto the piano, swinging his legs and stretching his wings. He watches the demon rest his fingers on the keys and hesitate, eyes narrowed in concentration as he thinks, as he struggles. The seconds tick by and, unwilling to give up the progress made, Wilford leans down to grasp Dark’s chin, turning his face up for a kiss. 

“I love you,” he says, and watches Dark’s eyes shift, smooth wine and adoration. 

“We love you too,” Dark responds in a three-toned voice before turning back to the piano and beginning to play. The melody is haunting and slow, sad in a way that Wilford doesn’t want to think too hard about. 

It’s so very Dark and he loves it.


End file.
